


Cheater, Cheater

by MsThunderFrost



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Allen Walker, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bartender!Kanda, Black Humor, Bottom Allen Walker, Cheating, Cross Marian is an Asshole, Cross Marian's A+ Parenting, Cute Kids, Established Relationship, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Musician!Tyki, PokerPair (D.Gray-Man), Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: “What the hell...?” He should’ve known not to open the door. The minute that he saw the red-haired bastard’s creepy grin through the peep-hole, he should’ve just turned around, crawled back into bed, and called it a day. To hell with the fact that it was only one in the afternoon—it was definitely too early for this shit.“I told you what would happen if you hurt my son, boy.” There was a sharp click as the safety was removed, the cool metal of the pistol pressing a groove between his eyes. “It’s just a shame that I’ve got to waste a perfectly good bullet on your sorry mug.” He crooned.Allen thinks that Tyki cheated on him. Tyki thinks that his husband is an adorable, if a bit misinformed, idiot.





	Cheater, Cheater

“What the hell...?” He should’ve known not to open the door. The minute that he saw the red-haired bastard’s creepy grin through the peep-hole, he should’ve just turned around, crawled back into bed, and called it a day. To hell with the fact that it was only one in the afternoon—it was definitely too early for this shit.

“I told you what would happen if you hurt my son, boy.” There was a sharp _click_ as the safety was removed, the cool metal of the pistol pressing a groove between his eyes. “It’s just a shame that I’ve got to waste a perfectly good bullet on your sorry mug.” He crooned.

He should probably be a lot more concerned about the fact that there was a gun to his head—and perhaps he would have been, if this was the first time his husband’s crazy-ass father had threatened his life. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time this _week_. “I’m afraid that you’re gonna have to be a little more specific. Because last time I checked, I haven’t done sh-,”

“Don’t fucking act like you’re innocent!” The man screamed, effectively cutting Tyki off. “You _know_ what you did.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that the reason I was asking is because I actually _don’t_ have any idea _what’s_ going on here -,”

“I told him.” Cross said, the gun leaving Tyki’s temple momentarily as the former general waved his hands in the air in exasperation. “I told him that you weren’t worth it, that you’d only end up hurting him. Do you know what he told me?”

Tyki sighed, “I have a feeling that you’re going to tell me, regardless of my answer.”

Cross frowned, “Don’t get flippant with me, boy.” He continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He said that, if I took the time to really get to know you, I’d be able to understand why he’d fallen for you. He said that he loved you, and that he was going to be with you, regardless of what I thought.” Cross bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, “He loves you _so_ much. Too much.”

Tyki leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as the gun came to rest against his forehead once more. “Could we cut to the chase? If you keep yelling you’re going to wake up my kid and at that point I might just have to kill you.”

Cross’ finger was a little too heavy on the trigger—not quite enough pressure to set the gun off, but too much to have Tyki confident in the fact that the old bastard wouldn’t just _accidentally_ blow his brains out. But the sudden look of excitement on his face completely contradicted his current, murderous stance, “Oooh, and where is my darling little Noah?”

“Sleeping.” Tyki repeated flatly, already so many levels of done with the demon’s bullshit.

Cross actually _pouted_ , and Tyki found himself praying to whatever god that would listen that this would end quickly. Heaven help him if the general was still here when Allen came home, “Good, so she won’t have to watch as I put a bullet between her Daddy’s eyes.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, old man,” Tyki said with a yawn, “you still haven’t told me what I’ve done to warrant my death this week.”

“You cheated on my boy.”

Tyki snorted, trying desperately to maintain his composure but rapidly devolving into a non-stop fit of giggles nonetheless. He doubled over, tears brewing in the corners of his eyes—how in the hell had he even managed to come to _that_ conclusion? Cross had been known to overreact on occasion, but there was usually some sort of precedent for it—like the time he’d thought that Tyki was abusing him after Allen had suggested they introduce a new toy in the bedroom: a beautiful, hand-crafted wooden cane that had left thick, red welts on Allen’s pale back. Tyki certainly hadn’t held back… and neither had Cross when he’d shown up two days later, hell-bent on breaking Tyki’s hand.

Cross was _furious_ , his face flushed the same color as his hair and his hand trembling around the gun. If Tyki’s survival instinct functioned correctly, he would probably recognize that this would be the time for him to attempt to cover his ass—instead, he just kept _laughing_ until a little head poked out of one of the many rooms down the hall. After surveying the scene for a moment, the door opened all the way and a little body scurried out, charging full-force at Tyki’s hunched over frame. Tyki barely had the chance to brace himself for impact, Cross the opportunity to hide the gun behind his back before the little one saw him pointing it at her Daddy’s head, before Noah happily exclaimed:

“Papai, você está em casa!” The little girl pulled at the hem of Tyki’s white dress shirt, demanding attention. Tyki sucked in a breath, calming himself down, before scooping his daughter into his arms and planting a fat kiss on her forehead.

“Sim, meu anjo.” He smiled, “Papai has been home for a few hours. But you were sleeping so sweetly, I couldn’t bear to wake you up. You were just so _cute_!” He exclaimed, before giving her an eskimo kiss. The little girl laughed happily, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Are those the new pajamas that I bought her for Christmas? Oh my God, she’s _so_ cute!” Cross’ voice jumped the octave in his excitement.

Noah turned to face her grandfather, smiling brightly. “Grandpa, when did you get here?”

Tyki shot Cross a _look_ , and suddenly the gun in his hand felt a whole hell of a lot heavier. Cross glared at him, before plastering a smile on is face and replying, “Just a little while ago, darling. I came to have a special talk with your father.”

Tyki shook his head, “Your avô is just talking out of his bum, anjo. Don’t mind him.”

Cross rolled his eyes, but eventually holstered his weapon. The cuteness of his granddaughter had, once again, saved the day. And like the excellent grandfather that he was, he came bearing presents—he pulled a giant, pink and white polkadot bag out of what could only be described as his ass, silvery-white tissue paper crinkled up inside and Noah’s name written in big, bubbly letters on the tag. The little girl all but _yanked_ the bag out of Cross’ hands, paper flying in every possible direction in her rush to get to her present. She let out an excited little gasp, contorting her body so violently that Tyki almost dropped her, as she first laid eyes on her gift.

“Look, Papai! It’s Rapunzel!” She howled, showing Tyki the box. It was a box set of Rapunzel and Mother Gothel limited edition dolls, which retailed for about $250—Tyki knew, because she’d been asking for them since Christmas and he’d almost, _almost_ caved.  

“It certainly is.” Tyki said, his smile a bit forced. Cross was known for giving over the top, ridiculously expensive presents, and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised that this was any different. “Be sure to tell Avô how much you like your gift, hmm?”

This time, she really _did_ tumble out of Tyki’s arms, rushing over and wrapping her little arms around Cross’ hulking legs and happily chiming, “Thank you, Grandpa! I love them so, so, _so_ much!” She turned to Tyki, “Can we play dollies later, Papai?”  

Tyki rubbed the back of his neck, looking between his little girl’s bright, smiling face and the dolls she was holding. “Those aren’t really the type of dolls that you play with, meu anjo. You’re supposed to put them on display.”  

“Oh.” Noah said, her shoulders slumping and her face falling. 

Cross quickly interjected with, “Not to fret, my darling. Grandpa will play dollies with you all you want.” Her face lit up again, and Tyki felt a sudden desire to strangle the man in his sleep. Having heard some of Allen’s stories about growing up with the old bastard, he didn’t think his husband would mind it too terribly much. “Why don’t you run along and get things set up? I have to talk with your Daddy some more.”  

Noah looked between the two of them, seeming a tad bit uncertain, before nodding. “Okay. Love you, Grandpa! Te amo, Papai!”  Cross watched her scurry off, a dopey smile on his face.

Tyki frowned, his earlier amusement gone, “I’m just going to go ahead and assume that Allen was the one who put this ridiculous notion in your head.” He said—Cross’ silence was more than answer enough. “Okay, it was funny for a whole three, maybe four minutes. Now it’s just plain offensive.”

”You don’t get to take offense to something that’s your own damn fault.” Cross said through gritted teeth, “My boy wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

”Oh, and I would?” Tyki growled, his face contorted in a mask of fiery anger. 

“I wouldn’t put anything past you, if it would prove to benefit you in the end.” Cross returned flatly.

Tyki threw his hands in the air in exasperation—how the hell were they supposed to get anywhere with this conversation when this man was just talking in circles? “What did Allen even tell you, anyway?”

Cross shouldered his way into the apartment, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up—blatantly ignoring the look of death that Tyki was sending his way. “He said that is started with a fight over Tyki forgetting to pick up something at the grocery store..."

*Flashback*

Allen would never understand how he, as the guest, had gotten roped into making dinner for himself and Kanda—but then, he supposed that he should just be grateful that the blue-haired man had agreed to have him over at all, considering that he’d just pulled a double at his job and had spent the duration of the car ride back to his and Lavi’s flat complaining about how he just wanted to go to sleep. But here he was, stirring the pasta and off-handedly commenting on the fight that he and Tyki had had that morning. It was the latest in a string of lovers spats, and was by no means any less stupid than those that had come before it... on this particular occasion, Tyki had forgotten to pick up milk on the way home from work that morning, which meant that Noah couldn’t have her regular Saturday morning pancakes. 

_“I gave you a list!” Allen actually had to scream to be heard over their toddler, who was so upset over the lack of pancakes she’d actually flopped down onto the floor, arms and legs flailing and face red as a tomato as she howled._

_“It was four o’clock in the morning, Allen! I was a walking zombie—I was bound to forget something!” Tyki’s left eye began to twitch, his head throbbing and his ears ringing as Noah continued to yell. Whoever had come up with the brilliant idea to “ignore it and it’ll go away” had clearly never met a child as resilient as Noah._

_Allen pulled out his phone, shoving a screenshot of the message into the taller man’s face. “I sent it as a text, an email... hell, I even left a fucking voicemail!” Tears began to brew in the corners of his eyes, “You know, sometimes I wonder if you ever fucking listen to me at all.”_

_Tyki frowned, “I’m listening to you right now.” From the way that Allen’s face contorted, it was clear that that was the wrong thing to say._

_“Why do you have to be such a jerk?” Allen didn’t realize that Noah had stopped screaming and was currently looking between the two of them, her eyes wide and a little scared._

_Tyki’s brow twitched, aggravation radiating off of him in waves. “I still don’t understand what I did to warrant this kind of reaction.”_

_”You forgot the milk!”_

Kanda frowned, wondering what horrible thing he’d done in his past life to deserve this torture. Allen seemed to think that he doubled as his relationship-counselor. “You can start a fight over the stupidest little things.” He rolled his eyes, “Lavi and I never fight.”

Allen cocked his head to the side, “Somehow, I find that really hard to believe.” And then he sighed, “I don’t know what’s going on. I feel like we can’t even talk to each other lately without it devolving into a full-out fight.”

”Hmm... maybe that’s why he cheated on you.” Kanda said flatly.

The pot fell off of the stove, boiling hot water splashing on the floor. There was no way that he'd heard the black-haired man correctly. Tyki would never even  _dream_ of hurting him like that, no matter what the circumstances. Besides, they'd only really been at each other's throats (read: Allen had only been attempting to verbally eviscerate Tyki) for a little under two weeks. This was by no means a regular occurrence in their household. And if Tyki felt like it was becoming that way, that Allen was out of line and jumping down his throat without good reason, then surely the other man would've said something by now... right?

And then, of course, there was that little voice in the back of his head that told him that Tyki worked nights (which he'd done since before they'd gotten married, and it had never been a problem before)--there was a very brief span of time that they got to spend together on any given day, and most of it was usually spent with both Tyki and Noah dog-piled on top of Allen, half-asleep and drooling. He could count on one hand the number of times that they'd been intimate in the last month alone. Not to mention the fact that Tyki went out of his way to flirt with regulars at the club in order to procure bigger tips. And when he laid on the charm, he laid it on  _thick_.

"You know, if this is supposed to be a joke, it's really not fucking funny." He knew that Kanda could be a jackass, but he wasn't downright cruel. If he thought that this was a joke, then he'd definitely stooped to a new low. "I don't know if I would prefer it if I found out that you'd been drinking on the job and were just talking out of your ass, or if you were actually trying to be a decent friend for once and were telling me the truth."

Kanda shrugged, "I mean, if you want to bury your head in the sand and act like nothing is wrong, be my guest. But I  _saw_ him walk into the back room--well, more like stumble, they were both pretty drunk--with that girl, and only one of them came back out. And he was wearing significantly less articles of clothing than when he went in, if you know what I mean." Kanda said, glaring at Allen over the rim of his glass. 

And then Allen remembered that Tyki's favorite suit jacket had gone missing about two weeks ago. "Was this... the week of January twentieth?"

Kanda leaned back in his chair, "I don't know. Apparently I'm just talking out of my ass, so why should you care about anything that I just said?"

"Really, man, now is  _not_ the time to be an asshole."

"Oh, because calling people names is working out  _so_ well for you."

"Kanda!"

The black haired man rolled his eyes, before supplying, "It was the twenty-first, since you asked so kindly. It happened about an hour or two before the end of his shift--I remember it vividly, because I couldn't help but think how  _stupid_ he was to give up his jacket when it's ten degrees outside and an absolute white-out." It  _had_ been storming pretty badly that night, "But considering that the man has no shame, I bet he cuddled right up to you -,"

Allen took a deep breath—it felt like he was trying to breath underwater, the pressure building in his chest sparking a flare of panic in the back of his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get enough air. “Tell me...” he cleared his throat, “Please, tell me what you saw.”

Kanda seemed to consider this for a moment, before shrugging, “You might not like the truth.” When Allen looked like he was about to break down and start begging, however, Kanda caved. “But whatever. Don’t act like I didn’t warn you, beansprout.”

*[Flashback]*

Kanda hated his job. Mostly, he hated the fact that his job required him to interact with the masses on a regular basis, and maybe, just _maybe_ , smile every once in a blue moon if the tip jar was looking a little empty and Lavi was bitching about making rent. Being constantly surrounded by alcohol was... not awful. Ask him a couple of hours into a particularly brutal night and he might even have upgraded his opinion to a soft “decent”. The one perk was that it allowed him an excellent view of the club, which, unfortunately, was ruined almost every night by Tyki’s face when he took the stage around midnight and made all of the women in the audience spontaneously combust into a puddle of orgasmic bliss—and that was just from a smile. 

Tonight, Tyki was in the middle of showing off an accordion file worth of new photos of his beloved daughter—his signature move, which had the women melting like putty in his hands. Kanda was more concerned about how he’d managed to take that many new photos of Noah since this morning and have them all developed; did this man just not sleep? Honestly, that seemed like the most likely scenario. Tyki was currently stealing hearts with a story about how Noah had decided to play dress-up that morning: he’d woken up late that afternoon to his toddler practically swimming in one of his sweaters and trying her damndest not to fall on her face as she attempted to navigate the bedroom in his dress shoes. It was like an overload of cute. Kanda could’ve thrown up. 

That was when she had walked in. Kanda hadn’t seen her around before—and he was pretty decent at recognizing the faces of his regular bar flies. She looked like she’d just walked out of a nineteenth-century Gothic novel, with her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and a long black dress that left literally everything to the imagination. The heavy black bags underneath her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept in quite awhile. And in fact, Kanda was not entirely sure that she wasn’t already at least tipsy when she saddled up to the bar and ordered herself a shot of whiskey. Kanda has fixed her her drink, fully prepared to leave her to wallow in her sorrows while he attended to clients at the other end of the bar (they were notoriously high tippers, after all, and Lavi was really riding his ass this month). 

And that’s when she came out with, “That makes one-hundred. I’ve been fired one-hundred times. How is that...” she stared at the counter dejectedly. “How is it possible for one person to be so incompetent?”

The little voice in the back of Kanda’s head told him to move far, far away—this was the type of customer to drown their sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and then suddenly realize they didn’t have a dime to their name to pay for their little binge. He offered a tight-lipped, “That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

"I don't know what to do!" She exclaimed, tears brewing in her dark eyes. Kanda panicked--he'd never been good at handling people when they were emotional, and while a sad customer was usually good for his bottom line, it wouldn't help anything if she got herself so worked up she started hyperventilating. "There's nobody left in town who will hire me! If I don't find work soon, I'll lose my apartment and then -," she cut herself off abruptly.

Kanda sighed, "Ever thought about moving to a different town?"

**Here, Allen interjected with a horrified, "Could you possibly manage to be _any more_ insensitive, Kanda? Really?"**

**"Whose telling the story, here?" Kanda bit back, levelling the smaller man with a glare. Allen raised his hands in a show of innocence, and after a beat, Kanda continued with, "Now, where was I?"**

The woman shook her head, "Oh no, I could never do that. This town is my home, I've spent my entire life here." She said, offering an almost wistful smile. When she ordered herself another whiskey, Kanda took pity on her and poured her another shot. "Even if... Even if my life never amounts to anything, I can't help but feel... Like someone were to miss me if I were to leave."

Kanda began to fix himself a Long Island ice tea--if he was going to listen to this sob story with a straight face, he was going to make himself good and drunk first. "You have any friends, Miss...?"

"Miranda." The young woman helpfully supplied. "And yes, I have two. Well, they're more like pen pals, I suppose, considering that we've never met in person. In fact, that was why I came here tonight." She pulled a letter out of her pocket and carefully unfolded it, before removing a small black and white picture and showing it to Kanda. "Do you know this man? We'd made plans to meet at this club, but I haven't had much luck finding him."

Kanda took a long sip of his drink, before nodding. "Yeah, I know him. He's that idiot's husband." He pointed to Tyki, who was currently warming up for his set. 

Apparently, Miranda had met her only two friends in the universe on a chat room called the Black Order, a site which allowed weirdos from all over the world to come together and chat about anything and everything occult (he should know, he had the misfortune of living with one). Miranda had gone on the site looking for advice about her clock, which she was convinced was possessed by some sort of demonic entity. Kanda really wanted to say that he was surprised, but then he gave her another once-over--not only did it seem perfectly logical that this woman assumed her clock was possessed, he was also nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this revelation.

Miranda stopped talking as soon as Tyki started playing his saxophone, the beautiful, sonorous notes cutting through the static, background noise of the club. He poured her another shot of whiskey, and considered that maybe, just maybe he should cut her off before she fell off of her bar stool--or, worse, she tore off her ten-thousand layers of clothing and threw herself at the stage. You wouldn't believe the number of people who sat down at his bar who just couldn't hold their liquor... it was a shame, he reflected, as he polished off the last of his ice tea. He turned, momentarily, to wash the glass. When he turned back around, Miranda was gone.

Well, shit. That couldn't be the harbinger of anything good. 

 


End file.
